


-?

by nacas



Series: Of Egos and Lies [2]
Category: Sanders Sides
Genre: Implied Relationships, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 13:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17081552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nacas/pseuds/nacas
Summary: He holds on and he murmurs sweet nothings, comfort, lies, an ounce of kindness he doesn’t deserve (is it his belief or the radiant one in his grasp? He doesn’t know, rarely knows anymore. It all gets so jumbled)





	-?

His gaze rests gently on the others hands, cold and numb. Both in spirit and body. The power of belief stronger than any of them know- well, if any _ one  _ would know- it’d be the Prince and Ego.

The radiant side that constructs so much of their surroundings, whom without him none of the others would gain neither courage nor contact with their dear host. Who, without him, nothing would happen (that’s what they say, hiding behind the screen and watching on, never let anyone know they’re involved- never slip up, no other option but continue with the charade, out of his power, out of his grasp as he suffocates in his need to firmly grasp onto the sinking tower- no, no, no nono _no-_ not his power, his illusions, he constructed that- it’s his- _his,_ by his blood and by his hands it belongs to **him** ).

He holds on and he murmurs sweet nothings, comfort, lies, an ounce of kindness he doesn’t deserve (is it his belief or the radiant one in his grasp? He doesn’t know, rarely knows anymore. It all gets so jumbled) and he holds and holds, tighter and tighter. 

The Prince erratic heart calms and he slumps, ever so slightly, weight easily caught by Deceit. “Better, little prince?” He asks, mocks, soothes, it all depends on who's telling the story. He feels the slight exhale on his arm, scales tingling with the image of green falling off his arm glistening as it hits the ground. He shifts, bending a leg under him and settling more comfortably, Roman not moving. 

“I know what you’re doing…” Deceit tells him, fingers subtly carding through the locks at his neck, the softness between two shaky fingers in their desire not to be noticed. He tries but, Roman tips forward. Neck more easily reachable and Deceit drops his hand. 

He inhales and pushes up, up and off him. Roman grunting as he rights himself on knees and hands, looking over with bewildered eyes. 

“Stop.” He begs. Not with a broken heart in his throat or a split gash on his palm, no. He sits there, eyes reflecting every ounce of light back into Romans darker eyes and he begs him. Just. “Stop.”

“...Deceit,” Roman whispers and he stands. Bones shaky but supporting his legs out of there, away from him.


End file.
